Underneath
by EssBeeXP
Summary: 15 year old Emily wasn't concerned about moving. Not until she found out that her new home was just across the street from the old Myers' home. There was no turning back now, though, was there?
1. New Beginnings

**I'm actually really nervous about this. 0_0 I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with it. I have a few ideas, but I'm not sure how to go about them. This is the first multichapter I've ever written, so that's a little scary all on it's on. This will at some point be Michael/OC.**

**I don't own Halloween or any of John Carpenter's characters. :-P**

* * *

Everyone knows who the boogeyman is. The boogeyman is the monster in every child's mind. Hiding in their closets, under their beds. In their nightmares. The scariest thing of all is that you cannot get rid of him. It seems that he is immortal. The only way to defeat him is by blocking him out completely, and try to forget... But he's still there. Lurking in the back of your mind. In the shadows, or around the corner. He is always there.

I'd always been told there was no such thing as the boogeyman, and that I had nothing to be afraid of. Things change, sometimes, though. In 1978, when I was 11 years old, the boogeyman became a reality for so many poor souls. At the time, I was very young and ignorant of the realness of it all. I'd only heard stories once the news spread from Haddonfield to my own hometown in Illinois, sing-songed by my peers on the playground. The stories were warped playbacks of things they'd heard on the news, or stories their older siblings spooked them with. The boogeyman was now real. A man made of flesh and bone, not dreams and children's stories. This man went by the name of Michael Myers.

Everyone in Illinois knew his name. In 1963 Michael had killed his older sister when he was only six years old. No one was quite sure why, but labeled him insane and stuck him in Smith's Grove Sanitarium. 15 years later Michael escaped, and returned to his hometown of Haddonfield, to every one of those unsuspecting victims. He attempted to kill his teenage sister this time. He failed, but slaughtered so many others in the process. Michael had been shot six times. He should have been killed. Directly after he'd fallen off a second story balcony. The boogeyman had gotten up and walked away. Michael was very severely burned later that night. He, again, should've been killed. He wasn't. He was then held at the Ridgemont Federal Sanitarium, in a coma. It seemed that this man could not die. He hadn't spoken a word in over 15 years, and he appeared to show no emotion. No regret, no remorse, no guilt.

Four years after the events in 1978 I learned that we were moving. We were moving to none other than Haddonfield, Illinois. Moving to Haddonfield was something that came unexpectedly. My father's aunt had died, and her house, right there in the infamous hometown of the Boogeyman, went to us. So, why not move? I didn't mind it, not really. Her house was better than the one we'd been living in, tenth grade was serving to be absolute Hell, and it's not like I had any friends to keep me from leaving. I wasn't too worried about Michael, considering he'd been locked up for four years by that point. It was fine with me. So, we packed up and left.

If I had known that our new home was across the street and one house over from Michael Myers' childhood home, my opinion on moving probably would have changed. I was a little chilled by this fact, but another part of me was morbidly excited. I wasn't at all prepared for the events that moving there would bring, or the effect they would have on me.


	2. Home

**I didn't realize how short my chapters are. :o It seems like a bunch when I'm writing it. Most of the chapters will probably be pretty short.**

**I would like to add that this all takes place before Halloween 4. Instead of Michael being in a coma for ten years, though, it's only about four.**

**Also, I own nothing. D:**

* * *

We eventually got completely moved into our new home. My room was downstairs, unfortunately. I would have preferred upstairs, where a certain masked murderer couldn't climb through the window if he ever felt the desire to do so. My room was towards the front of the house so, of course, one of my windows had a perfect view of Michael's old home. I knew that would take a while to get used to, but I would at some point. Right?

A few weeks passed. School was boring, and the students were nice enough, but I was still the new girl that no one spoke to. Nothing interesting happened. In fact, it seemed nothing interesting _ever_ happened in Haddonfield. Except when there's a serial killer on the loose. Which brings me to my next point. About a week later I was walking through the living room. My mom and dad were watching the news, and something was said, nearly inaudibly, that caught my attention.

"_Michael Myers_-"

I froze, unsure if I'd heard correctly.

"Someone turn that up, please."

"_The ambulance transporting Michael Myers to Smith's Grove Sanitarium has been found, crashed, near Marshall, Illinois. We've been told that there were no survivors...including Myers._"

There was a small, shocked silence before my father shook his head. "It's about time that bastard met his end."

I bit my lip. Michael Myers was the boogeyman. The boogeyman couldn't die.

After this I was completely paranoid. I knew that the ambulance crashed at least 200 miles away from here. Yet at night I would lie in bed and stare across the street at that house, rolling my green eyes around, always searching for him. It wasn't until a week later when I actually thought I seen something.

Beside a tree in his front yard stood a dark shape. The shape of a man. I swore I could see the white of that creepy mask of his. It looked like it was staring directly at me. I stared at it hard, but it never faded away as I expected. I closed my eyes tightly and rubbed them. When I opened them again, the shape wasn't there. My heart pounded in my chest and I slid further under the covers, hoping that what I had just seen was nothing more than my mind playing tricks on me, due to my paranoia. Only one thing was on my mind as I fell asleep...

_What if he came home?_


	3. Curiosity

**Just to clear things up, this has been and will be in Emily's point of view the entire time.**

**I do not own Halloween or any of the characters in Halloween. 0_0 **

* * *

I went on walks a lot, to clear my head. I know it sounds cliche, but it was all I had. My dad worked all the time, and never had the time to listen. My mom was busy with her own job, and with doing things around the house that dad was far too busy for. Both of them were too busy to listen to me. When they weren't busy, they were too tired. I learned to stop bothering with it eventually. I hadn't made any close friends yet, having just been there for a few weeks. I had no one to talk to. So, this left the walks. About eight days after I'd thought I seen Michael, I needed one. It was around 2 AM, and another sleepless night for me. I snuck out to get some air.

I'd taken many walks within the few weeks I'd been living in Haddonfield, always careful to avoid the Myers' home. That night, however, I was feeling particularly bold. I'd almost managed to convince myself that what I'd seen a few nights before was nothing more than my imagination. And so, I decided I'd take the sidewalk that passed his house, just for kicks. I told myself that I'd be perfectly fine. After all, he was dead... Or everyone assumed he was.

The closer I got to the house, the more my heart pounded. I made it to the front of the house eventually, though painstakingly slowly.

Suddenly, being on the outside wasn't enough.

I wanted in.

I stood on the sidewalk staring at the front door, twirling my hair around my fingers. Going in wouldn't hurt anyone, would it? I'd just look inside. I was too curious not to consider it. Then, something my mother had always told me came to mind:

_Curiosity killed the cat._

I shrugged it off, bit my lip, and continued on. I stepped up the porch steps carefully, cringing as they creaked under my weight. I stood at the front door, slowly reaching out to grab the door knob. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed it, and every horror movie I'd ever seen decided to come to mind. In the movies, moments like these always ended badly. I reminded myself that this was real life, not a scary movie. I turned the door knob fully, and gently pushed the door open a few inches. I peered into the dark house. I couldn't see much, but I could see a few things, highlighted from the glow of the moon peeking in through the door. A staircase, a couch not too far away, and a lamp next to it. I opened the door fully, and the room flooded with pale light. I took a daring step inside.

I wasn't near as scared as I'd been before. This was just a normal house. I moved further into the house, past the staircase and into the living room, and the house grew darker within each step I covered. I went to the lamp, reached up and flipped it on. I was expecting the room to light up. It didn't, of course. This house had been empty for nearly 20 years, why would there be electricity? I stood in the darkness for a while, realizing how eerie the silence was, remembering the awful things these old walls had seen. I began to become nervous again. I no longer felt safe.

I began walking back to the front door, when I heard something clatter to the floor directly behind me. I felt my heart drop to my stomach.

A split second later a large hand quickly snaked around my waist, pulling me against something solid. I felt a scream rise in my throat, but it was stifled by another rough hand covering my mouth.

Instinct kicked in and I fought. I kicked and thrashed against whoever had hold of me, struggling to get free, with my eyes targeted on the open front door. Muffled screams from my own mouth filled my ears, escaping from around the boogeyman's hand. Strong arms held me tighter, keeping me from getting away. I grabbed his hand covering my mouth with both of my own, much smaller hands, attempting to pull it away with all my might. It wouldn't budge.

I could hear his harsh breathing behind me, and I swung my head backwards, hoping to hit his face. The back of my skull came in contact with his chest. I squeezed my eyes shut as my head throbbed. He was taller than I'd assumed.

He grunted angrily, pressing his palm harder over my mouth and moved his hand higher up to cover my nose, completely restricting me from breathing. My eyes opened wide in panic, and I clawed at his hands and arms, desperate for air. I glanced down and seen that what had dropped to the ground was a large knife.

I whimpered loudly, but he continued suffocating me. I closed my eyes, tears leaking out past my closed lids, and I held on to his sleeve covered arms for dear life. There was no more fight left in me. I was completely exhausted, and literally out of breath.

_Curiosity killed the cat. _

Then my whole world went black.


	4. Darkness

**Another extremely short chapter. ^_^**

**I based this room loosely off of Michael's room in Halloween: Resurrection, although this one isn't as cluttered.**

**The text in italics is Emily's thoughts at the time.**

**I don't own Halloween. :(**

* * *

I peeked an eye open, expecting to see the light from the sun shining through my bedroom window. I didn't. I started to think that maybe it was still nighttime, and opened my eyes completely. It wasn't until then that I remembered what had happened, and my stomach twisted uncomfortably. I wasn't in my room. I looked down at myself first, making sure I was unharmed. As far as I could tell I was okay. I was still in the clothes I'd worn before, not the pajamas I was so used to. Sitting up, I glanced around. The room I was in was dark and small. Brick walls, concrete floors. It smelt dank and musty. I was lying on an old mattress, completely bare of any blankets or pillows. The room was relatively empty, except for an extremely tattered, cushioned chair in one corner of the room. A couple of lit candles sat on the floor next to it, casting an orange glow throughout the dark room.

No. I wasn't in my room. I didn't know where I was. But I was certain I'd encountered the boogeyman.

So why wasn't I dead?

I didn't have time to try and come up with an answer.

I heard footsteps approaching behind a door to the left of me, and my eyes widened in panic, glued to the door. The handle turned, and I quickly laid back down, squeezing my eyes shut.

The door squeaked as it opened. It clicked as it closed. The footsteps continued, growing louder as they neared me. They stopped again, at the edge of the mattress. I could hear his slow breathing above me, and I tried to keep my own breathing calm, despite the panic and adrenaline that was coursing through me.

Time seemed to stand still. This couldn't go on forever. I peeked up at him through half closed lids, and couldn't keep the gasp from escaping my lips at the sight of him. His face was hidden by his infamous, chilling mask. His eyes appeared black in the darkness, along with the mechanics suit he wore. He was tall, probably around 6 feet, but from my place on the low mattress he seemed giant. My eyes widened as I watched him. It was obvious I was awake now, yet he made no acknowledgment to the fact. He just watched me silently.

I wanted to run. I wanted to go home. But, if what I'd heard was true, he would get me. Instead of risking it, I just looked back at him until the silence became too nerve racking for me.

"Um.. Hello?" My voice shook.

_I just said hello to Michael Myers. What am I doing?_

He blinked, as if he'd never had the word hello said to him before.

I cautiously sat up, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them.

"You're Michael Myers." I stated, stupidly. I resisted the urge to smack myself in the forehead.

_Shut up, Emily. He knows who he is. _

He continued to stare down at me, and I cleared my throat, beginning to feel awkward.

"My names Emily Lynn."

He looked at me curiously, his head tilted slightly.

"Why am I here?" I didn't expect an answer. The question was more to myself than to him. A couple of minutes passed, his eyes still seeming to burn my skin. I looked up at him.

"You know people will come looking for me?"

He didn't seem to be concerned about it.

"Soon."

He still didn't seem to be bothered.

I let my head rest on top of my knees and sighed.

_I'm going to die here._


	5. Familiarize

**Blaaah. I really don't like this chapter. It seems very sloppy, and fluffy. I had to take care of a few basic necessities for Emily, which is what I think messed it up for me. It's longer than the others, though. :D **

**Oh, and instead of the sewers, they're just in the basement.**

**I don't own Michael Myers. :(**

* * *

"Can you not speak or something?"

I looked across at Michael from where I was leaning cross-legged against the wall, sitting on the mattress. He sat in the chair across from me, his eyes never leaving my form as I spoke, and seemingly never blinking. He didn't respond to my question. I didn't expect him to, either. I just needed something to keep me occupied.

"Maybe you just choose not to..."

I'd been in the little room for around 3 hours by this point. I was too afraid to move from my spot, and Michael had only moved from his once, when he went to the chair from the side of the mattress.

"Are you keeping me here because I came into your house? Is this some form of punishment?"

Michael continued to just look at me. His unresponsiveness was really beginning to get on my nerves. The scared feeling I'd had was slowly being pushed away by annoyance. I eventually stopped asking questions. More time passed, and I dozed off occasionally. I wouldn't let myself fall asleep, not all the way. I didn't trust him.

I had no way to tell time, but if my guesses were correct it was around 5 AM, and tiredness began to plague me. After a while, hunger began to join it. I glanced up at him and noticed he'd changed his focus to the wall, rather than me.

I looked at him, searching for a clue as to what may be going through his head. It was obvious he was in deep thought, but he gave nothing away.

I took a deep breath.

"Michael?"

His head whipped around to look at me, seemingly startled by the sound of his own name. I wrung my hands together, terrified.

"Um. I'm hungry."

He blinked at me, staring for a few seconds, then got up and walked out the door. I stared after him. Was he seriously getting me food? I'd expected him to just stare. That seemed to be all he did. I curled up on my side, deciding to try and get some sleep and wait for him to return.

Some time later the door creaked open. I unwillingly woke from my light sleep. I opened my eyes and listened to his footsteps approach me, nervous by his presence but excited by the possibility of food. I sat up and turned to face him.

His looming figure stood at the side of the mattress. He held something in his hands, but before I could make out what it was he dropped it beside me on the bed.

Cold fur brushed against my leg, and now I could see clearly what it was he'd brought me.

It was a dead cat.

I yelped and retreated from off the mattress.

Michael stood on the other side of the matress, looking at me with his head cocked curiously. He bent to pick the cat up, looked at it, then reached across the mattress, offering me the limp creature.

_Oh_.

He wanted me to eat it.

I covered my mouth, fighting nausea, and shook my head at him.

"I can't eat that," I told him. "Thank you, though," was added for good measure.

Michael looked at me, at the cat, then back at me before angrily turning and walking out the door again, gripping the cat tightly in his hand.

I sat back on the bed.

_That must be what he eats..._

I grimaced, nauseous once again.

Maybe when he came back he'd have food I could actually stomach.

_Wait._

He'd brought me food. Well, kind of. He tried, anyway.

_Why_?

As far as I knew, Michael Myers didn't keep anyone alive any longer than he had to. I didn't know why, but he didn't seem to want me dead. And for some reason, I was extremely unsettled by this.

Around 20 minutes later, Michael came back. This time he dropped two apples on the bed beside me. I managed to smile slightly at him, despite my confusion.

"Thank you."

He stared at me for a while as I began to eat, then sat back down, the wall taking his attention once again. I ate the apple until only the core was left, and saved the other one for later. Then, laying down, I slept. I was asleep for what felt like a long while.

When I woke, I looked over at Michael. His head was leaned back slightly, and his eyes were closed. I got up and walked towards him, as silent and cautious as I could manage to be.

"Michael?" I whispered.

No response. He was asleep. I'd never seen him sleep before. He was always staring either at the wall or me.

My eyes traveled over to the door. Why hadn't I thought of this when he'd left before? If the door was unlocked, I could get out.

I walked to the door, warily turning the knob. It was locked. I wiggled it a few more times before reluctantly giving up. I glanced at Michael. I thought about seeing if he had the key in a pocket on his mechanics suit somewhere, but decided against it.

_Next time_.

About an hour passed, and I realized, reluctantly and with great embarrassment, that I needed to pee. Badly.

Michael woke up many agonizing minutes later. He looked around the room quickly, calming when his eyes landed on me. He seemed slightly annoyed, probably by the fact that he'd fallen asleep.

I looked back at him, seeing that he wasn't in the best of moods, and bit my lip before giving in.

"Do your toilets work?" I blurted out, blushing furiously.

He blinked at me. I was mortified. Then he walked to me and grabbed my wrist firmly in a calloused hand. It wasn't until that moment that I noticed his hands. Scars and burns covered both, and I remembered the fire he'd been in. I couldn't imagine the pain he'd felt, being burned alive like that. I looked up at his soft, dark brown eyes, and seen a man. Not the boogeyman, but a human being. And only for a moment, I felt pity.

That pity vanished when he noticed the look I was giving him, his eyes turning hard, and jerked me to my feet, simultaneously jerking me back to reality. He led me to the door, opening it and dragging me through the doorway. When we got out of the room I realized that we were in the basement. I struggled to keep up as he led me through another room, up the stairs, and through a door leading into the very house on 45 Lampkin Lane. The room we were now in was empty, except for dust. Light shone through a window, causing me to squint my eyes. We went through another door, and past the living room where we'd originally "met", then he ushered me into another room. He released my wrist for the first time since our little adventure, and shut the door behind me, leaving me alone.

I was in the the bathroom. I looked at the toilet, then at the door warily.

The next few moments were the most awkward in my entire life.

When I finished, I opened the door and found Michael waiting for me on the other side. We made our way back down, with Michael securely attached to my wrist.

This became routine for the next two days. Michael would bring me food at some point in the day, an apple or something semi-fresh that he'd retrieved from the garbage, and a cup of water. I'd eat, sleep, then some time later he'd bring me upstairs so I could relieve myself. I was like his pet. Although, it was like he was making an effort to be kind. He even allowed me to shower one day, although I had to put on the same clothes I'd been wearing again, and the water was freezing. Regardless, I was grateful.

After the couple of trips up and down, I had the route from my new home in the basement to his living room completely memorized. I made sure to do so, just in case the door was ever left unlocked.

I didn't speak to him for those two days. I just thought. We both kept to ourselves, trapped in our own minds. Eventually, though, talking to a mute serial killer is more appealing than silence and doing absolutely nothing at all. I thought I was going to go insane.

"It's been at least three days. My parents are looking for me."

_Three days._

Three days felt like forever down here.

Michael just looked at me, not seeming to give it much thought. I glared at him.

"You're probably pretty confident, though, aren't you? Everyone thinks your dead, why would they look here?"

I wondered how long it would take them before they just gave up. He only continued to give me that stupid blank stare of his. I huffed at him and laid down, turning my back towards him. I began to shiver, the coolness of the basement chilling me. I bet that it was freezing outside. Winter was just really setting in. I listened to his breathing for a while, my arms wrapped around myself. Even though I was infuriated at him, his breathing relaxed me in this really strange way. I had become used to him. I even seemed to enjoy him being around. When he wasn't in the room I craved his presence. When he would return I felt strangely content. I even started sleeping for longer periods of time, and deeper, than I had to begin with. I was not as nervous about being off guard as I once was. He hadn't done anything to make me feel nervous. Not since he'd actually kidnapped me anyway.

I closed my eyes, and guessed that I was just lonely. Then, still shivering, I fell asleep.

When I woke, he'd gone off somewhere again. And once again, my eyes found the door.

I got up, made my way across the icy room to it, and turned the doorknob. I did this when I had the chance. In the few times I'd done it it had been locked.

This time, I turned it, and the door knob turned completely. I froze, my heart leaping to my throat. I pulled the door completely open.

I hadn't even made it past the door when Michael turned the corner, something in his hand. Our eyes met for only a second, but before I could react in anyway the object he held fell to the floor and his hand was around my throat. I stumbled back, and he violently pushed me against the wall, pinning me there. I grabbed onto the scarred hand around my neck, whimpering. His eyes pierced threateningly into mine, completely void of anything but anger.

"Please," I choked out. He didn't even blink.

"Michael."

His grip loosened, not by much, but enough for me to barely feel the blood start rushing back to my face. I struggled to breathe.

"You're killing me."

His eyes suddenly widened, something in them changing. He released me and took a step back, as if I'd burned him. I crumpled to the floor pathetically, trying to catch my breath. He looked at me, his eyes quickly glancing over me as if he were making sure I was alright. I noticed his fist clenched at his sides, the veins in his hands bulging. For only a moment our eyes met again, his frantic while mine were confused and scared. Then, as quick as he came, he disappeared out the door, slamming it behind him. I heard it lock.

I rubbed my throat, completely lost. I then noticed what it was he'd had in his hand, now laying across from me, as tears began to fall.

He'd brought me a blanket.


	6. Maybe

Michael had brought me a blanket.

He knew I was cold, and tried to help. And I didn't understand why he cared.

Still sitting on the floor where he'd left me, I grabbed the gray blanket from where it sat in front of me and draped it over myself, hugging it against my chin. It was soft, and kept the cold away.

_This doesn't make any sense._

Why would the boogeyman kidnap me instead of killing me? Then, even stranger, it was like he was trying be my friend, like he actually cared for me. I didn't get it. It was exhausting. Maybe he just didn't have anything else to do, and I was his source of entertainment. A toy. His pet. I didn't know what his motive was, and I guess it didn't really matter.

I sat on the floor for a few minutes before moving back to the mattress, taking the blanket with me. In times like these, when there was absolutely nothing to do, I'd play games in my head. Usually I'd think about my parents. What they were doing, if they were still looking, if they were even concerned enough to keep looking at this point. I'd always felt a little ignored when with them. Maybe they weren't ignoring me now. Maybe there were a lot of people looking.

_Maybe._

It'd only been three days that I'd been here, nearly four. Three days. On the outside, three days flew by. It didn't seem like there was enough time in the day to do everything I needed to do. But here? Here, a second seemed to be a minute. Michael wasn't much company. Although, sometimes he was fun to watch. He didn't do much, but you could tell by the look on his face that, in his head, there was so much going on. I would ask him what, but I knew he'd only stare at me.

Michael...I'd been waiting for him to return for two horribly long hours. I wondered where he had gone off to, and what he was doing. I wondered if he was as confused as I was. If I hadn't known of the awful things Michael had done, I would probably really like him. I didn't hate him. Not like I should. At times he almost seemed innocent, with the curious looks he would give. Even sweet. I shook my head and sighed. I ran out of things to think about and fell into a dreamless sleep.

When I woke up Michael still hadn't returned. I'd probably slept for over three hours, and he'd never been gone that long. What if he had gotten angry and decided to just leave me here? Just like a person would just leave a dog that they no longer cared for on the side of the road.

Several hours later I decided that this was the case. I was hungry, thirsty, and terrified. I looked at the door almost constantly, hoping that he'd enter it. He didn't. The candles had long blown out, leaving me in darkness. Time passed so painfully slowly, my mouth growing dryer and my stomach clenching tighter, hope disappearing. I knew that a person could survive weeks without food. However, one could only survive about three days without water.

It'd been two.

Dehydration is a horrible thing. It set in for me after only a few hours. At first my mouth was just dry. After two days my head and heart were both pounding. Food wasn't as much of an issue. I'd had some left over, and that kept me going. Closer to day three I could feel the last bit of life slipping away from me. I was weak, and so unbelievably tired.

Michael had never cared about me to begin with. Why would he? I wasn't even sure if he was capable of feeling anything. And now I was going to die. Lying on the mattress that was now home I sobbed tearlessly, clutching the blanket, and I accepted the darkness that engulfed me...

...Someone was shaking me. Not roughly, but urgently, with a hand on my shoulder. My eyes opened slowly. There was light, coming from a lantern sitting on the floor. The hand left my shoulder, leaving it cold.

"Michael?"

My head turned up to find The Shape staring down at me, his eyes wide with... Something. Something different than the blackness that was usually present. Something human. I felt my dry lips spread into a grin.

_He didn't forget about me._

I noticed the rest of his body. He was covered blood. It was dry, and I couldn't tell if it was his or someone else's. I wasn't sure which I was hoping for.

Michael put one arm under my knees and another around my back. He lifted me up, holding me close to his chest. My arms went around his neck, holding on for dear life. I buried my head in the crook between his neck and shoulder, trying to ignore the coppery smell of blood.

_Maybe I'm going to be okay._


	7. Brighter

Michael carried me through the basement, up the stairs to the first story, and then to the second into what looked to be the master bedroom, all the while holding me like he would a loved one. Not at all like you'd expect your kidnapper to carry you. He laid me on the bed and disappeared out of the room.

I propped a dusty pillow against the headboard, sat myself up to lean against it, and waited. I'd carried the blanket Michael had given me as he'd carried me, and now clutched it in my hands. It's become important to me.

After a while, I started to fear that Michael wouldn't return, but he eventually came through the door, a bucket of water in his hand. Michael sat down beside me on the edge of the bed. He held the bucket up to my lips, tilting it so the water flowed slowly into my mouth. I gulped it greedily. I didn't even think about where the water came from, or what the bucket had once held. I drank all I could before pulling back to catch my breath. Michael sat the bucket on the floor, then looked at me curiously.

"Thank you," I said sincerely.

He didn't respond. I took notice of a rip in his suit and a gash underneath, and looked at the blood on his jumpsuit and his hands. I bit my lip, concerned, but not for the reason I probably should have been. Not for the reason any reasonable person would have been.

"Are you okay?"

Michael blinked at me, his eyes widening. He nodded once, barely noticeably. Then he tilted his head, his eyes on my neck.

"What?"

He reached out towards me. I recoiled slightly, but he simply brushed a thumb lightly over my neck before letting his hand rest beside him on the bed.

"Oh." I felt where he'd touched. That was the first time he touched me without being rough, and it left my skin tingling. I winced as I put pressure on the bruises he'd left, and nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay." I felt the corners of my lips lift.

I'd always been the type of person to look for the best in people. Michael had proved to be a little difficult when it came to this. He was empty. The only emotion he seemed to display was anger. For the most part, though, there was nothing. But that was changing. Michael cared. For some reason that was beyond me, Michael actually seemed to care for my well being.

As for the blood, I guessed that he'd taken his anger out on something, or someone. I didn't know what he'd done. I just hoped it had alerted the police.

I laid back on the bed, enjoying the softness of the dusty pillow. After a week of not using one, it felt like heaven. So did the old quilt on the bed, compared to the bare mattress down below. Even though it seemed all I'd done in the past few days was sleep, I was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. I ignored the hunger that gnawed at my stomach. Within 30 seconds I was asleep, the blanket in my hands, and not in the least bit bothered by Michael sitting next to me.

When I woke I'd expected him to be gone. He usually was. Not this time. This time he remained where he was when I was asleep, his back to me, facing the door, and staring at the wall. And this time, sunlight shone through a window.

It seemed everything was looking a little brighter.

Now that we were above ground, escape might be a little easier. Even though what I'd just been through was the result of trying to escape, I couldn't give up. Even if Michael didn't seem to be a threat, I needed out. All I had to do was get up from the bed, run downstairs, and out the door. I had to get past Michael first, but if I was quick I could make it.

But what if he caught me? What if he brought me back into the basement? What if he just killed me instead?

I didn't know, but I made my decision, and as I jumped from the bed I prayed I wouldn't find out. My feet hit the floor, a quick step was taken, and I felt hope.

That hope vanished as his hand locked around my arm.

Michael jerked me backwards, and I yelped as my arm felt as if it'd almost detached from the rest of my body. He was on his feet in an instant, standing in front of me with a hand gripping my shoulder painfully, then he shoved me backwards. My legs hit the bed and I fell back onto it. The cold edge of a knife pressed at my neck. Michael stood above me, glaring down, his dark eyes filled with fury. His breathing was eerily calm. I closed my eyes tight.

_He's going to slit my throat_.


	8. Regression

**Hang in there guys! It's boring and jumpy and short right now, I know. ;-P Most of the chapters so far are fillers until I work to really make it interesting. So, it'll get better as they get closer... I hope. I really appreciate all of the favorites, follows, and reviews. You have no idea how much it means to me :3**

**I still don't own Halloween. .**

* * *

Seconds dragged by like minutes, and I slowly opened my eyes.

Michael stared down at me, now breathing heavily and practically shaking with rage. I couldn't tell if he was trying to stop himself from killing me, or if he was trying to force himself to. I wasn't going to wait and see. Taking a deep breath, I swung my leg out, hitting him right where it hurt. Michael groaned in pain and stumbled back, the knife leaving it's place at my throat. If I wasn't in the position I was in, I might've laughed. I remembered what had happened the last time we were in this position, when I'd attempted to get him to snap out of his rage. He'd left, leaving me alone for days. I wasn't going to let that happen again. So, I ran.

I didn't get far. I'd barely made it out the door before Michael grabbed me around the waist, keeping me from going any further. I struggled to get away, but he made it obvious that I wasn't going anywhere by pulling me against him. I spun around in his arms and pounded his chest with my small fists pathetically. It didn't seem to faze him.

In fact, he almost seemed amused at my effort.

"Let me go!" I screamed. Michael ignored me, wrapped an arm around me and hauled me back into the bedroom in spite of my squirming, and slammed the door behind him.

I pulled out of his hold, stalked away from him, and sat on the bed. I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him, much like a child would.

He stared at me, obviously extremely irritated, but he let me get away with my escape attempt. I knew if I tried to pull something like that again, he wouldn't be so generous.

That little episode had worn me out. I was still dehydrated. I picked up the bucket from the floor and drank the remaining water, then sat under the gaze of Michael for a while before deciding to speak to him again.

"May I shower?"

Michael looked at me warily, still in the spot he'd been in since we came back into the room.

"I won't try and run." I stuck my arm out, so he could grab my wrist as he always did. "Here."

Michael looked at me, then pointed at a door to the left of the bed that I'd not noticed before. I put my arm down and nodded at him.

I walked in, closing and locking the door behind me. I avoided looking in the mirror, because I knew it wouldn't be good.

I cried once I got in the shower. I'd, amazingly, only cried a couple of times since I'd been there. I wouldn't cry in front of Michael. I wouldn't show that weakness.

When I'd finished I reluctantly put on my week old clothes. I ran a hand through my damp red hair, combing it the best I could, and opened the door to find Michael sitting on the bed. His head snapped up at the sound of the door opening.

"I could use some different clothes, Michael."

He stared at me.

"...Unless you like the smell of BO."

His head cocked, and I sighed. I sat on the bed, as far away as I could get from him. I started to ask him if he had food, but my stomach growled, beating me to it. His eyes shot to my stomach, then back to me. He then stood, and walked out the door. I heard a chair be pushed against the door and I lied back on the bed. I tried to keep tears from falling.

At least here there was a comfortable bed, unlike downstairs, and a window.

_A window._

I stood from the bed and pulled the curtain aside on the single window in the room. Looking outside I frowned as I noticed the neighboring house could not be seen from here. I certainly couldn't jump from out and survive the fall, either.

_There's no escaping._

Michael opened the door around ten minutes later. He carried a pizza box in his hand, that I guessed had come from a dumpster somewhere, and handed it to me. I wondered how he'd managed to get it in the daylight. I opened the box to find half of the pizza left, and decided that it'd be edible. I ate three cold slices before glancing up at Michael, who stood unmoving where he'd handed me the pizza. I offered the remaining three slices to him. He didn't react.

_Must prefer cats..._ I pushed the thought out of my mind.

"I'll save it for later, then." I laid the box on the floor beside the bed. I moved over, making a space for Michael. He didn't take it until after a few minutes of silence. I chose then to speak to him.

"I don't understand why you're keeping me here."

He didn't respond.

"Are you lonely or something?"

He still didn't react.

"Sometimes I'm not even sure if you understand me."

Nothing.

Sighing, I rested my head on my hand.

"Can we stay up here? I like it up here."

Nothing, at first. Then an uncertain nod.

I managed a smile at him. "Thank you."

We then sat on the bed in mutual silence that seemed to last forever.


	9. Little Things

Day 7.

One week. One week of being stuck in a room with a serial killer who didn't speak. I hadn't heard a voice other than my own in days. It was enough to drive a person mad. Somehow, though, I didn't feel as if I was going to go crazy. I was okay, because he was taking care of me. Compared to the way I was when he'd been gone, I was fine. I can't say that I was happy, but I had a full stomach, natural light, I was well rested, and was somewhat clean. I was_ content_.

And Michael was around, which had the biggest effect on me.

I was completely dependent on him. In a world of nothing, he became my everything, and I became his.

I almost considered him to be a friend.

Michael was the only kind of social interaction I had, if you could even call it that. The only source of entertainment. I only spoke to him when I needed something, but that's better than not at all. Sometimes I wish he'd speak, others I'm glad that he didn't. I was confused... He was confusing.

I was lying on the bed, nestled under the old sheets, trying to sleep. Winter air crept under the window I'd opened slightly that day, in need of fresh air. It was late. I wasn't sure what time exactly, but I imagined it was around midnight. Michael was seated on the edge in front me, the light from the moon illuminating his form. He was staring at his marred hands folded in his lap, thinking about something it seemed. Always thinking. I was thinking, too, but I guessed it was about something totally different.

"Hey, Michael?"

My voice jerked him from his thoughts and he looked over at me. The use of his name always seemed to surprise him. I liked using it.

It's not like we had much to talk about. I couldn't just ask him what he was thinking, as much as I wanted to. It had to be a yes or no question, something he could shake his head to. I had loads of questions I would've liked to ask. Questions that required an explanation. But I couldn't, because there would be no response. So, this led to stupid, random, one-sided conversations.

"Have you ever had ice cream?"

It was laughable. The question would seem silly to any other person, but not with Michael; things were completely different with the boogeyman.

He stared at me before giving a slight shake of his head, and I felt my jaw drop slightly. There was probably so much Michael had missed out on, having spent the majority of his life locked up. It was sad, but once you considered the reasons it was a little different. Sad, none the less. It was to me, anyway, and now I wasn't so sure that I wasn't going crazy.

"Never?"

Another head shake.

"Wow... Chocolate?"

No.

He turned away from me. I decided to pester him further, boredom getting the best of me.

"Cookies?"

No.

"Cupcakes?

No.

"Cake?"

No.

"Brownies?"

No.

I started to speak again when he whipped his head around to glare at me warningly. I stared at him for a moment.

"Am I bothering you?"

Yes.

"Sorry." I felt my cheeks redden. He turned back to look at his hands.

"But..."

I climbed out of the covers and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, a safe distance away from him. He turned to look at me again, obviously exasperated. I felt my cheeks redden further, but I was curious.

"But what about on your birthdays when you were younger?"

He continued to just stare at me, apparently not understanding.

"Did you not have birthday cake?"

A long pause, then a slow shake of his head.

And suddenly I wanted to cry. Not because I was pitying myself as usual, but because I was pitying Michael. I was on the verge of tears because a killer had never experienced the simple joys of life, the little things that everyone took for granted. Not even a cake on his birthdays, before he'd done all of those things.

Yes, it seemed I was losing my mind.

"Did you ever want one?"

An even longer pause, and then a nod.

This man was breaking my heart, all because of a cake. I blinked, and a tear slipped out. I wiped it quickly, hoping Michael hadn't noticed. His head tilted and he studied me carefully.

_He noticed._

He didn't look as if he knew what to do, so neither of us did anything.

_There must be something wrong with me._

But there wasn't. I was absolutely fine.

Except I was beginning to actually care for Michael, and that terrified me. It scared me worse than he did himself.

"I'm sorry," I offered, not sure what else to say to him.

He gave me a blank stare in reply. I moved away from him and lay back down, pulling the sheets and my gray blanket around me. He remained in his spot, motionless. Sleep didn't come until hours later.

* * *

**This was a bit different. :D I get all of my ideas when I'm only half awake, so I guess that'd explain it. I just imagined Emily lying in bed and thinking, "I wish I had some ice cream... Oh hey, I wonder if Michael..." and that led to this.**

**I have plans for later chapters. Hopefully they won't be as fluffy as previous ones...And longer. :)**


	10. Snow

**I don't own Halloween, disclaimers, or any words of the English language...If I did the world would be a terrifying place.**

* * *

My eyes opened to find Michael standing in front of the window, his hand placed over the glass. Sunlight filled the room, except it was freezing.

"What are you looking at?"

He glanced at me and tapped the glass with a finger. I heaved a sigh and reluctantly pushed the covers off of me, cursing the cold that seemed to bite. I was clad in my jeans, sweatshirt, and socks, yet I still shivered. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and padded over to where Michael stood.

I looked outside and immediately felt a grin appear on my lips. Blankets of snow covered the ground, and flakes were still falling from the sky.

I've always loved the snow. I'm not sure what's so special about it, but for this reason I favored winter over any other season. When I was younger I used to spend hours out in the snow, making snow angels and "igloos" that would always collapse on top of me. My mom would have to force me to come inside, worrying about me getting too cold, and then would give me hot chocolate. I always played alone, yet these days were the highlights of my childhood.

And right now I wanted nothing more than to go outside and play in the snow.

I glanced up at Michael cheerfully, feeling like a child. "Can we go outside?"

He shook his head.

"Please?"

No.

"I won't run away, I swear." I crossed my heart to prove my point. I wasn't lying, not completely. If I had the chance I would run, but I guessed that he would somehow manage to catch me, as he had before. I knew that if he caught me again it'd be strike three, and odds are I'd be out.

"I just want to be in the snow. I haven't been outside in a week. Please?"

Nothing.

"Michael?" I looked at him hopefully, and he shook his head. I felt my shoulders sag, and I decided to give it up.

I spent most of the day sitting on the bed, looking longingly at the snow falling outside the window. Michael looked at me occasionally, his head tilted in that forever annoying way. I would just turn my head away, trying to stop my cheeks from reddening. I wasn't much to look at and wasn't sure why he still seemed to be so interested in me.

The sun eventually disappeared and a full moon replaced it. I gave one last glance at the window before I decided to lie down for the night. I'd just gotten under the covers when Michael dropped my shoes beside me. I looked at him towering over me, and he watched me expectantly. My lips slowly stretched into another grin.

I laced my shoes quickly and Michael led me downstairs, gripping my wrist. We turned the corner, passed the kitchen, and went out a door I hadn't known existed. It led outside, to the back of the house. I looked around cautiously. No one could see us here.

And I was going to play in the snow.

Michael uncertainly released my wrist, and I took a step forward, my feet sinking into the soft snow, with a small smile still present. It almost felt like I was being released. Like I could just walk away.

But I couldn't, and the way it seemed now I never would.

I took a few more steps, putting more distance between both the house and Michael. I kept wondering what would happen if I were to run, if I were to scream, and if anyone could save me. I would have taken the chance but something, I wasn't sure what, kept me from it. I wasn't even sure if there was anything I needed to be saved from.

Well, other than the serial killer that stood behind me. But he didn't seem to pose much of a threat... At least not when I wasn't trying to run away. I planned to keep it that way.

For a while I just shuffled around in the snow, enjoying the feel of it and the cool air. I would've built a fort, like I used to, but didn't want to make a fool out of myself. Instead, I reached down and scooped up some snow, then rolled it around in my hands, molding it into a ball.

I glanced over at Michael, who watched me closely a few feet away, near the back door, and I suddenly got an idea. It may have been a risky one, but an interesting one none the less.

I threw the snowball, hitting Michael in the chest.

He looked bewildered for a moment,and I shrugged innocently, fighting a smile. He didn't look amused, and glared at me.

I then decided that it was probably the stupidest thing I'd ever done.

I turned away from him, somewhat disappointed. I kicked some snow around, contemplating building a snowman. It wouldn't have a scarf or a carrot nose, or buttons and mittens, but it could still be a snowman. Sort of.

I'd knelt down to begin making the bottom of the snowman when something soft clipped my arm in a powdery explosion. I looked at my sleeve to find snow on it. My gaze then traveled to Michael.

He stood in the same place, giving me a look as innocent as a killer could manage. At his feet was a small indention in the snow, and for the third time that day I found myself smiling.

I rolled up another ball of snow. I tossed it around in my hands for a bit, whistling in mock innocence. Then I hurled it at Michael. He stepped aside, dodging it with ease. I quickly began forming another snowball and glanced up to notice Michael had knelt down, in the process of making one for himself. I threw mine before he had the chance to finish his.

It hit him right in the side of the head, and he fell back on his butt with a grunt.

I clamped my hand over my mouth in a vain attempt to stifle the fit of giggles that were trying to escape.

"Sorry," I managed to squeak out.

Michael sat staring at me, seemingly indignant. My giggling subsided, in fear that I'd royally pissed him off, but only for a moment. The position he sat in was too much for me.

Michael grabbed a fistful of a snow and marched towards me. I yelped and sprinted around him. I then spun around to see if he was gaining on me, but before I got the chance white obscured my vision, and powdery snow smacked me in my face.

Once I realized what had just happened, I dropped my jaw slightly and gave Michael a disbelieving look. This time it he really did look amused, his eyes sparkling. Despite the fact that my face was now numb, the entire situation had me smiling again. I wondered if, under the mask, he was smiling too.

My smile vanished when Michael quickly stepped behind me, his hand instantly covering my mouth.

My hands automatically went over his own, attempting to pull his own hand away, and I was reminded of the first time I'd ever entered the house. Michael pulled me against him and put his other arm around my stomach. He then moved us both against the house, pressing his back against it and holding me in front of him, never removing either of his hands.

At first I panicked, not quite sure what was going on, but then I seen them.

Out of the corner of my eyes I could see two boys, around my age, laughing and making their way to the front of the house. I'd seen them around in school; I think they were in the grade below me. They were talking about something, but I couldn't make out what they were saying, and it didn't look like they were up to anything good.

They continued walking towards the house until they were no longer in sight. A few moments passed and I heard something shatter.

I felt Michael tense up behind me and I instinctively squeezed his hand, hoping to calm him. I could have done something. I could have taken Michael off guard and screamed for help. I could have escaped.

But I didn't. I blamed it mostly on the fact that I was somewhat flustered by our closeness. So, I just stood silently, praying that the boys would leave. I knew that what patience Michael had was wearing thin.

We heard glass break at least three more times, and Michael got tenser with each noise. The boys eventually left and he timidly released me, then ushered me through the back door. On our way into the bedroom I noticed two broken windows in the living room, and one in the hallway.

Michael and I both sat on the bed once we'd entered the room. I couldn't feel my fingers or my nose, and even Michael's fingers were red from the cold. I noticed his fist were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. I cautiously scooted closer to him, gnawing at my bottom lip.

"They're just kids. I would be angry too, but they don't even know there's anyone living here. It'll be okay."

_Still, I wouldn't mind hitting them both in the face with a snow ball._

He didn't respond, but I swore the color returned to his knuckles.


	11. Breaking Boundaries

I could see my house outside the bathroom window. I couldn't see it well, but I could see it.

Each time I got the chance I would look out and see if I could catch a glimpse of my mother or father. I didn't, and quickly became paranoid that they'd moved or something. Maybe they'd given up the search and wanted away from the hellish town.

I never did completely believe it, though.

_They wouldn't do that to me, would they?_

After all, it'd only been 10 days.

Seeing my house, just neighboring the one I was now in, but knowing I may never be in it again messed with my head. It offered a tiny bit of hope, but it simultaneously seemed to jerk away what little I had left. And the strangest thing of all was that part of me honestly liked it better in the old house than in my own home.

However, the other part of me hated it. I knew that at some point I probably would actually go crazy, being cooped up in the old house like that. Even though I was oddly beginning to feel comfortable around Michael, and I thought he cared about me in some strange way, I hated it.

Except at the same time I didn't, and that made absolutely no sense to me.

I _liked_ it with him...I liked being in the company of a sociopathic killer.

I often wondered if I was becoming a victim of Stockholm Syndrome.

It was confusing and frustrating to the point of tears. At that point everything seemed hopeless.

So, that night I lied on Michael's small bed as he was out doing God knows what, and I cried. I squeezed my eyes shut tight trying to choke back the sobs that racked my body. I clutched at his pillow, worrying about the tears that were staining it. I figured he would notice and try and ask me about it at some point, but at that moment I couldn't bring myself to stop crying.

Time passed and at some point a hand landed on my shoulder. My body froze, both the sobs and time stopping for a moment. I hadn't heard him come in.

Michael tended to move like a cat, prowling silently. You could even say he moved gracefully. Aside from his breathing echoing in the mask, he made no sound. I held my own breath, wondering what his next move would be.

I opened my eyes and there was a strange light filling the room, much brighter than the candles. I looked up at Michael and he tilted his head. I searched for the source of the light and seen he had obtained a lantern from someplace, and had set it on the bedside table. I hadn't heard him do that either.

In his other hand he held a knife, and I glanced at it nervously then back at him. He didn't seem to even realize he had it, like it was just a completely natural thing for him to hold. He just continued looking at me, and I became aware of how pathetic I must have seemed. I knew my face was red and blotchy, and tears still stained my cheeks, yet I wouldn't allow myself to be embarrassed or cower. I sat up on my knees to meet him eye to eye with a strange amount of courage, searching the brown orbs for some sort of clue of what was going through his head.

What I found there surprised me, because it was different from the usual blankness that filled the dark voids. I knew what I was seeing wasn't just something I wanted to see, it was really there.

It was concern.

Without warning another sob escaped me. I threw my arms around his neck, and he stumbled backwards slightly with a small grunt before stabilizing, his body tensing immediately after. I buried my head in the crook between his neck and shoulder, the cool rubber of the bottom of his mask pressed again my head, and we both stayed completely still. Michael had stopped breathing.

_What have I just done?_

Seconds passed slowly. My heart pounded, and I felt Michael's own heart pound in his chest against my own.

_And why hasn't he killed me because of it?_

I knew that I had just broken some sort of boundary, and I don't think either of us were sure what to do about it.

Then, ever so slowly, I felt his arms raise. I was scared to death that he was going to stab me. Even though I trusted him I realized that he was still extremely unpredictable. But, to my relief, I heard his knife clatter to the floor. He moved his hands to rest awkwardly on my back. This strange form of comfort made me begin crying again, and his hands slid across my back in response, tightening our embrace. It took me a moment to notice that he was trembling slightly, and the realization that he probably hadn't been touched in years, let alone been hugged, caused my heart to feel as if it were being squeezed. This hug was probably terrifying for him.

Michael was showing a weakness; Something I'd never imagined happening.

We stayed like that for a few moments. At some I stopped crying, and he seemed to relax considerably. With reluctance I pulled away, and his hands found their place at his sides. I was completely exhausted, from just a simple hug, and laid back down.

I curled up and Michael gazed down at me for a while, before he lifted the tattered, gray blanket over my tired body, taking me completely off guard and nearly causing me to begin sobbing again.

I then heard his footsteps travel to the other side of the bed, and he surprised me again when I felt him lie down behind me. He rarely slept, and when I'd seen him do so he'd just been dozing in his chair in the basement, or sitting on the floor while resting against the wall. He had never lain down. He didn't wrap his arms around me as I would have oddly, and somewhat frighteningly preferred. He was extremely close on the small bed and I yearned for contact, for comfort, but his presence and shallow breathing was enough to get me to drift into a deep and comfortable sleep.


	12. Enfolded

Something wasn't right.

My eyes flew open as soon I was conscious enough to notice, immediately narrowing as the morning sun's rays glared harshly through the window.

_Oh my God._

Yep. Something was definitely wrong here. I stayed stock-still while trying to process what exactly was going on.

…_..Are we seriously spooning?_

I was lying on my side...and there was a serial killer snuggled closely against my back, with an arm draped over my waist. His calm, shallow breathing was enough for me to realize that he was sleeping rather soundly. I found the situation amusing for a moment before realizing just how compromising this position really was. I remained motionless, afraid that moving would wake him up which would make the situation even more embarrassing. My now fully alert mind battled with many thoughts.

_How did this even happen? Did he do it purposely or unconsciously? I should probably move... but I'm so comfy and it's freezing. And he's so warm. Maybe if I just stayed for a little while longer...no, that would be weird. This is bad. A definite no-no. If I could just- _

My thoughts were briefly interrupted by a rather happy sigh from Michael, which was followed by the arm around my side pulling me closer to his sleeping form.

_Oh crap he just moved and now I'm even closer to him is he waking up what if he wakes up what am I going to do then there's no way I- Oh no. I hugged him last night. And he hugged me back. That isn't weird at all. Nope. Just a friendly hug between myself and my kidnapper... What have I gotten myself into?_

After a few moments I decided to take my chances and move, slowly inching myself away from him. Once a safe distance away I carefully rolled over on my other side to face him. Thankfully, Michael's eyes had remained closed. I also noticed that he looked unnaturally peaceful. For once he was not tense and on guard. He looked strangely...innocent. Well, at least if you paid no mind to the blood still staining his jumpsuit and the eerie mask. I glanced at his hands; one was hidden under his pillow while the other was out in front of him after being removed from my side. My attention went to the scars covering them both. They were a blatant testimony to only part of the pain he'd endured in his lifetime. Previously tormented by flames, his hands had faded into a color slightly darker and at time lighter than his pale skin, appearing shiny and tightly drawn to him. It was gruesome, but the scars did not disgust me.

Without realizing what I was doing I'd begun to reach towards him, but caught myself midway.

_I shouldn't be feeling sympathy for him. Most definitely should _not _be feeling sympathy for Michael Myers._

My damned curiosity got the best of me, though, and with I sigh I continued to move my hand towards his own. I cautiously touched his marred flesh, wide eyed, then ran a finger over the rough skin, tracing the designs imprinted on it. My gaze traveled up to his masked face and-

I jerked my hand away so quickly I almost smacked myself in the face.

_Uh oh._

With eyes as wide as my own, Michael was gazing right back at me.

* * *

**Dun Dun DUN. **

**:D Don't you just love cliffhangers? **

**I know it's very short, but it may take me a while to get some more written. So I just thought I'd go ahead and post this bit. **

**Also, I'd just like to say that writer's block is a real bitch.**


	13. Susceptible

**Yay! It's currently 4 AM and I have finally decided to stop panicking over this chapter and just go ahead and update.**

**I randomly switched to third person for a little bit in this one. It's probably not something I'll do often, I just thought I'd try it out to show some of Mikey's feelings. **

**Oh, and I love you guys. ^_^**

* * *

My gaze did not waver from his own for a moment in which time seemed to stop altogether.

Even so, it was only a moment. Almost instantly I had practically leaped from the bed, shocked and embarrassed. And partly afraid that he was going to lash out. My eyes again met his curious stare. My face flushed immediately, and I knew I must have resembled a cherry. Then began my nervous babbling.

"I, uh, I didn't – I was just – I mean, um..."

Michael began to raise up into a sitting position, his eyes never leaving mine.

_Oh god._

"I was looking at your, your scars and I... If I had known you were awake I wouldn't have- Wait, no, that's not what I mean."

___Way to sound like a creep, Emily._

Michael sat still and looked at me. His eyes were unreadable, but something in them made my heart clench. I was completely and utterly clueless as to the reason why.

"If I made you angry I really didn't mean to. I wasn't thinking and sometimes I do really, really, really dumb things, and..." My words were running together, but they began to slow as Michael's head tilted. I swallowed the lump in my throat, took a deep breath and finished my ramblings off with a meek "Sorry?"

Michael looked at me for another moment, his head tilted, before he stood and made his way toward me. My breath caught in my throat and I refrained from taking a step back. Something kept me from it. I guessed that it was simply my own stupidity. Michael stopped in front of me and I straightened my stance, then raised my chin to meet his gaze. His stolid eyes searched my anxious ones. He almost reminded me of a predator sizing up it's prey. Except his eyes seemed soft, displaying no hostility. I still could not help but feel intimidated.

"I'm not afraid of-"

I was cut off when Michael suddenly took a quick step towards me. I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath as powerful arms wrapped around my frame. I began to prepare for the worst. This was it. He was finally going to kill me. He'd gotten sick of me, and decided he'd had enough.

Seconds passed, and I did not feel pain.

_…__.Am I dead?_

I peeked an eye open, then another as I realized that I was, in fact, still very much alive.

I also realized that what was actually happening could only be described as a hug.

Michael's arms were wrapped around me, and I was held tightly against him. My face was pressed against his chest and his head hung next to my own. After a moment of shocked hesitation I raised my arms and wrapped them around the masked man. Michael made a noise similar to a whimper, then suddenly collapsed to his knees, taking me down with him. My legs folded beneath me, and his knees fell on either side of them. He slumped against me, his forehead resting against my shoulder, arms still wrapped around me tightly.

My heart had completely melted. I tightened my hold around him and leaned further into the hug. I then noticed that it seemed our positions from the night before had swapped.

But I was still completely confused as to what exactly had just taken place.

"Michael?"

* * *

Michael was equally confused.

Emily treated him like a human being. Not like a thing, not like everyone else did. She did not treat him at all as he'd expected her to. And to him it made no sense.

She was causing emotions that he'd hidden to resurface. The ice that protected his heart was melting away, and for the first time in his life he was vulnerable. For the first time in his life he was ___scared__._

Vulnerability was foreign to Michael. He'd never let his guard down. He'd always had a reason for it to be up. Every touch was violent, both those received and ones given.

But this girl had touched him. Played in the snow with him, spoke to him. She'd ___hugged _him, and after a moment of panic he had returned the gesture, feeling oddly warm; a feeling that was very strange to him. When he woke the next day to find her perfect hands caressing his own grotesque hands, hands that belonged to a body he hated, he'd only gaped in awe. Her face held no signed of disgust. For a moment he believed it to be a dream. Michael was shocked to an even further degree as she'd tried to apologize, as if she believed him to be angry with her. He was not angry. He was very, very far from it. If it had been anyone else they would no longer be breathing. But not with her; she was different.

After her constant talking subsided Michael's only response was to embrace her, as she'd done to him, his guard now lowered and his heart feeling as if it might burst. When Emily did not move he became frightened that he had done wrong. When she finally did respond, her small arms wrapping around him, he had broken down, near tears.

For the first time in his life Michael was happy.

This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to have ended her life the first night she stepped foot in his home. She was just another nosy teenager. But he'd hesitated, and in that hesitation the small, insufferable girl had proved to be something very different.

And it was for this reason that Michael knew he could not ever let her go.

* * *

___I just broke Michael Myers._

Michael had not moved for several minutes. He seemed perfectly content to stay the way he was; practically sitting on me and clutching my sweater as if it were a lifeline.

I was perfectly content to allow him to stay this way.

I wasn't entirely sure what had caused his little breakdown, but I could guess. I was aware that he had received very little human contact in his life, and our relationship was probably the closest to a friendship he'd ever had. He must have been completely overwhelmed. Whatever the reason for his sudden cuddliness, I did not want to put a stop to it. It seemed to be a good thing, a definite breakthrough. Plus somewhere in the back of my mind I ruefully admitted that I was enjoying the contact.

But when my legs began to lose feeling as Michael's weight restricted the blood flow, I had to interrupt our heartfelt moment.

"Michael, you have to let me go."

His hold tightened stubbornly. I sighed in response, a small smile on my lips.

"I can't feel my legs."

Nope.

"Michael," I whined halfheartedly.

I put my hands against his chest and managed to pull back slightly, enough so that I could see his face. He raised his head, and his dark eyes snapped to my own green ones with such an intensity that all of the breath whooshed from my body.

His eyes were usually blank. Emotion was seemingly absent, as they were heavily guarded. When emotion did show itself his eyes always left me speechless.

At that moment they held pain, curiosity, sadness, happiness...There were so many conflicting emotions that I couldn't even imagine what was going through his head.

And if I didn't know any better I would say that they seemed to be a bit teary.

I bit my lip and slowly raised my hand to his mask. Ghosting my fingers over the cool rubber, I searched his eyes for any protest they may have held. There was none, though they were understandably wary. I traced the small cracks in the mask before tracing the scars on the open skin beneath it. The muscles in his neck and shoulders tensed as our skin made contact, but he did not move. Making sure to keep eye contact I brought my other hand to the bottom of the mask, then slipped each thumb beneath it.

Michael's eyes suddenly flashed dangerously, panic evident in them. Before I could react he had his massive hands locked in a painful grip around my wrists. He forcefully shoved me backwards, then was on his feet just as quickly.

I scrambled up to sit on my bottom pathetically and watched him stride to the door.

_Shit shit shit shit shit shit_

"I'm sorry!" I yelped. And I was. I was sincerely sorry.

He ignored me and reached for the door.

"Michael, please don't leave me!"

He froze. He stared down at his hand on the door knob and did not move a muscle.

I hadn't meant to say it. I wasn't even sure where it came from. But it slipped out, and it made realize that I really didn't want him to leave. I was afraid.

Michael turned his head to look at me sideways from over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Please," I murmured.

He looked at me for another moment before opening the door, leaving me alone, and slamming it behind him.

I flinched at the sound of the door slamming shut, then fell onto my back in defeat. I put my hands over my face and fought the tears welling in my eyes, silently berating myself for being so stupid.

_Why do I ruin absolutely everything?_

* * *

I did not allow myself to worry too much for the remainder of the day.

_He'll comeback. He always does_.

And he did. It was later that same day, thank god. A little after dark.

_And_ he was carrying a pink duffel bag.

Before I could say a word he'd tossed it beside me on the bed, giving it a look as if he was disgusted to be holding such a thing. This caused me to laugh, which, in turn, earned me a look not too different from the one he'd given the bag.

I grinned at him. "I'm glad you're back."

Michael blinked. Then he nodded, just barely.

I turned my attention to the bag, unzipping it to find clothes neatly folded inside. After exploring it a little more I found that a girl around my age had obviously packed to stay at a friend's.

_Jeans..several tops. A pair of sweatpants. Underwear- Clean, I'm hoping. Socks. Toothpaste and tooth brush..probably not clean but better than nothing. Soap and shampoo! Yay! Wait, what is-OH MY JESUS it's condoms. _

My cheeks burned and I glanced up at Michael to make sure he hadn't noticed. He didn't notice the package but did notice my reddening cheeks, and his head tilted curiously. I quickly stuffed the offending item in the bottom of the bag, making sure to hide it from sight beneath the clothing.

_Heh. Most definitely will not be needing those._

I found a zipper on the side of the bag which contained pads and tampons, much to my relief. I didn't want to be faced with the awkwardness of explaining to Michael what I would eventually be needing. I zipped the bag back up and set it beside me on the bed.

"Thank you." I grinned up at Michael. He gave me another nod. "How did you..." My grin faltered. "You didn't hurt anyone, did you?" He shook his head, and I was almost sure that he was telling the truth. There was no way to tell.

I gave him another small smile and wondered into the bathroom, bringing the bag with me. This bag contained everything I needed to live here, besides food.

It made my situation that much closer to becoming permanent.

The scariest part of all was that I was not upset about it.

* * *

**Oh lord. This chapter was all over the place.**


	14. Astray

**Just a quick glimpse into Emily's parents lives.** **It's short, but I'm working on the next chapter right now. :D**

* * *

Dawn and James had woken up one Saturday morning, sat down for breakfast, and their daughter never joined them. Their initial thought was that she'd stayed up late, as she often did, and was sleeping in. Time passed and Dawn began to prepare lunch, yet Emily still had not emerged from her room. James knocked on his daughter's door and called her name but got no response. He stuck his head inside to find her bed empty and unmade, along with the single window wide open.

Panic set in for Dawn immediately. James rationalized the situation and was certain that his daughter had just wondered off on one of her walks that morning. He ignored the sinking feeling in his chest that deepened with each passing second that Emily did not walk through the door.

They alerted the police when she did not return for dinner.

Emily Lynn became a missing person.

Police investigated their home and an investigator asked many questions that her parents found unnecessary and time wasting. Their eventual assumption was that she had run away. There was a search for her that night that ended unsuccessfully, along with the several others that took place. Days passed and posters were taped and stapled throughout Haddonfield, and Emily's face appeared on newspapers and eventually television.

There were no leads. It seemed that the young girl had dropped off the face of the Earth. After five days the search for the 15 year old was beginning to slow.

And after five days Dawn woke without James by her side. She went into the kitchen expecting him to be sitting at the kitchen table only to find it absent. She looked out the window to see his car still parked and realized that he hadn't left for work early. Deciding not to worry, Dawn made herself coffee and sat down with a steaming mug of the hot liquid that she found hard to swallow. James never did join her.

The next morning Dawn sat alone at the kitchen table with a mug clutched in one shaking hand, and a phone with the police dialed in the other.

James Lynn became a missing person.

Two weeks passed. There were still no leads.

Dawn wasn't sure how she was still holding herself upright, but somehow she was and it was taking everything she had. She was staying strong, because she knew that one day her daughter and husband would return home. She _knew_ they would.

She told herself that each passing day.

In the meantime she still had to function as a normal person. She needed to work, eat and sleep, and she needed to ignore the feeling of doubt and guilt that plagued her continuously and continued to worsen. And Dawn would never stop looking.

The Myers' house still had yet to even cross anyone's mind.


	15. Development

I've noticed that as people grow older they become used to the curious thing that is life and the wondrous planet that we live it on. It no longer interests them. Maybe it does, but they simply don't care any longer. Many of their questions are pushed into the back of their minds as they rush around completing everyday tasks, thinking everyday thoughts in dull minds. They stop questioning things that don't have a definite answer for. They just accept it. And, if you ask me, that's _boring. _

Michael, however, didn't seem to have acquired this way of thinking. He constantly seemed as if he were thinking about something so complex that I couldn't even begin to guess what it was. I knew that I would find his thoughts to be extremely interesting if I ever got the pleasure of knowing what they were. I knew that his mind was not dull, as other men's minds are; it was obvious just from the odd glint in his eyes. He looked at everything with such a strange curiosity, as if the eyes he was looking through were innocent. I sometimes received this look from him. Other times he would look at me with such an intensity that it was almost scary. And sometimes his eyes would be blank, but there would be a hint of _something. _Something unrecognizable. He still kept his emotions heavily guarded so there was not a clue as to what exactly the nature of the thoughts running through his head were.

Michael was a _very _strange man.

And this was part of the reason I liked him so much.

Isn't that odd?

After everything that he'd done...I liked him. It was because he was different. Everything about him was _different._ Different is good.

_What would your mother think, Emily?_

I'd be sent to a shrink, no doubt about it.

_Maybe that's where I need to be._

I chuckled as I imagined what my father would say if he learned of my thoughts about my mysterious kidnapper. He'd blame it on teenage girl hormones.

I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around myself, fighting off shivers. I was still getting used to the cold water, but was grateful Michael had water at all, although I wasn't sure exactly how he'd gotten it considering the house had been vacant for so long. I sighed and made my way to the little pink duffel bag on the counter. I brushed my hair and teeth while mentally figuring up the days I'd been there. This morning would mark the..what? Fifteenth day? I'd begun to lose track. Michael had brought me the bag a few days prior, that's all that I was certain of.

So that would make it about half a month.

_Far too long._

I picked a pair of underwear from the bag and held it cautiously between my thumb and forefinger, wrinkling my nose at it. I still was a little grossed out by the fact that they belonged to someone else but slipped them on, trying to remain indifferent. It was better than nothing, after all. I picked out the single pair of gray sweatpants and a green T-shirt, noting mentally that the green shirt would bring out my eyes.

…_.Not that it matters or anything._

I turned the lantern off that sat on the counter and walked back into the bathroom to be greeted by Michael's scrutinizing gaze. He sat on the floor across from the bed, leaning against the wall.

"Hello," I chirped.

Michael blinked at me.

_And cue head tilt._

I giggled as Michael's head did, in fact, tilt. He tilted his head to a further degree in response to my laugh and I grinned widely. It reminded me of the adorable way a dog would respond to something it was curious about.

_Michael's head tilt really is pretty adorable._

_. . . . . . . . _

_Wait, no, what?_

_I didn't actually just think that. Because I would never think 'adorable' and 'Michael' in the same sentence. Nope..._

_Never._

I mentally slapped myself before sitting down on the bed and eying Michael. His gaze was set firmly on the wall across from him.

"I wish I knew what was going on inside your head ."

Michael's eyes snapped to mine and locked on as I spoke, silent as ever.

"I also wish that you would talk to me."

Michael looked at me thoughtfully for a moment before heaving a sigh, standing up, and walking out the door.

I stared blankly at the door as it closed behind him.

_...Did I just piss him off?_

I collapsed backwards onto the bed with an inward groan.

_This happens way too often._

The door opened several moments later and I felt Michael's weight settle on the edge of the bed. I raised up to find him sitting with a notebook on his lap and a pencil in hand scribbling onto it.

I stared at him, opened mouth.

_Why the hell didn't I think of that?!_

Michael held the notebook up for me to see and a grin split across my face as I read his writing.

_**What would you like to talk about?**_

* * *

**Oops, another cliff hanger... Well, kinda.**

**:)**

**I don't like posting such short chapters but I've been so distracted lately that it takes me a while to get something written. I'm debating over whether or not I should make them longer and have less frequent updates or to just keep doing what I'm doing. What do you guys think?**

**Also, have any of you heard the song Michael by Franz Ferdinand? That song along with my imagination almost killed me. XD**


End file.
